Just Want Your Heart
by ShaymieTehShaymin
Summary: "We're like Romeo and Juliet," they had joked on their first date, huddled up in a drafty attic. They wound up finding out just how true those words would end up being after the world ended. *Inspired the amazing Mush Roomie's zombie AU*
1. Chapter 1

**I said I was going to take a break and not post anything on Christmas but once again, I am a dirty liar. I got inspiration for this fic from the lovely Mush Roomie's animatic of The Zombie Song and I have no self control and this kind of became a thing? It's like the least festive thing ever, but whatever. Like usual, the first chapter is a mess and really short because how do start story? Hopefully you lovelies like this! ~Shaymie**

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Hunger.

 _Want._

 _Need._

Alexander pushed away the intruding thoughts and stumbled along with his group. Left foot. Right foot. Maybe a little intimidating growl every once in awhile. Repeat. Life (if it could even be called that) as a zombie was… incredibly monotonous. He had quickly learned that he was abnormal. Well, as abnormal as a zombie could be. While the others seemed to have quite literally turned into mindless creatures, he was still… himself, if not a less coordinated version of himself. He refused to feed on humans, choosing instead to hunt for animals. He may be undead, but he still had morals. He didn't want to submit anyone to this lifestyle.

He knew he had been human once, but that felt like an eternity ago. His human memories were foggy at best. The only thing he could remember clearly were his last hours alive, and they had been completely torturous. It was supposed to be a simple supply run into the mall, in and out. Then some idiots nearby shot their guns, and an entire herd filed into the mall. They had been cornered. He'd fought hard for his life, but it hadn't been enough. He ran out of ammo, and one of them got him before he could reach for a knife. He had never been so terrified in his life. There was nothing but searing pain as his throat was clawed at by jagged nails, and then he was lying on the ground, being brutally mauled by a zombie as gunshots rang out around him. He started to black out.

Hands. Warm hands had patted his cheek, begging him to stay awake. A broken voice tried to reassure him that everything would be okay. But it was a lie. He knew it was a lie. There was no cure for the infection, and even if there had been he knew he wouldn't survive long enough to make it back to camp. A scrap of cloth was tied around his neck, trying to slow the bleeding. He wanted to speak, to tell the man to just leave him behind, but he couldn't even breathe. His mind grew fuzzy as the life drained out of him. And then panic broke through.

He didn't want to die. He couldn't die. There were so many people relying on him. He wanted to fight against this, fight the infection that he could feel rapidly spreading through his veins. It burned. It felt like his entire body was on fire. He didn't know what would kill him first, blood loss or the infection. He wanted to scream, wanted to tell the man holding him to just put a bullet through his brain so he wouldn't have to go through this torture, but he couldn't do much of anything. It didn't matter anyway. He could feel himself slipping away, no matter how hard he fought to stay awake. Tears streamed down his burning face as he let his eyes slip shut.

TV shows and movies were bullshit. All of them portrayed death by a slit throat as quick. This was anything but. It was slow, achingly slow, and incredibly painful. He couldn't breathe, his breaths only coming out as pathetic gasps. Why couldn't he die? He should be dead. At this point he wanted to die. An endless oblivion was definitely better than the burning hell that was his reality. He didn't even get the reprieve of unconsciousness, the liquid fire that was coursing through his veins keeping him awake.

"We're almost back to safety," the broken voice had told him. He desperately wished that he could remember the face that it belonged to. He could remember the events leading up to him turning. He could remember the exact face of the zombie that had gotten him. But he couldn't remember the face of the person who had tried so desperately to save him. He couldn't remember their name. He didn't know anything about them, but he knew that they had patched up his wounds.

Alexander came back to the present, tracing a mangled hand over the stitches on his throat. There were more on his cheek and wrist. He didn't remember getting the other scratches. He didn't even remember getting the stitches. Whoever had tried to put his broken body back together must have done so when he was already dead, but before he turned. He didn't know who they were… But he had a feeling that they had been important to him. He felt like something was missing. And it wasn't his left eye, which he had lost in a fight with another zombie. He was missing someone. And he was willing to do whatever it took to find them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, lovelies! Happy Thursday (wow shocking, I'm updating two stories on the same day again), and good evening! At least it's evening over here. I'd like to thank you lovelies for the nice reviews that almost made me cry because I'm really sensitive when I'm tired, lol. They gave me the burst of energy I needed to finish this chapter that I've been sitting on for a little bit. Hopefully you enjoy the chapter! I feel like I'm getting used to writing in third person. ~Shaymie**

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"It's been months and nothing's changed."

"He's grieving, Hercules."

"He's _depressed,_ Laf. There's a difference. We've all done our grieving. We all miss Alex, but we've moved on. Everyone except John has…"

Their voices faded away as their footsteps got further. John burrowed into his sleeping bag, dark curls covering his cheeks. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to risk having nightmares again. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his precious Alexander, getting nearly eaten alive. His Alexander, bleeding from his neck, choking on his own blood. His Alexander...

He let out a groan and rubbed the bottom of his palms against his eyelids, trying to wipe away the terrible thoughts. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in ages, it felt like. His screams would wake the camp in the middle of the night, and he couldn't risk making so much noise. Not with the possibility of zombies being attracted to the noise. Just because he wanted to die didn't mean that he wanted to risk everyone else's safety. There was an extent to his selfishness, and he didn't want to drag everyone down with him.

He pushed his sleeve back and looked at the bandage that Hercules had wrapped around his wrist, sighing deeply. He had gotten the lecture of a lifetime for the new cuts, but he couldn't care less. He hated being in so much pain and yet feeling so empty all at once. He felt everything and nothing all at once. It should have been him. He should have been the one to die. He was useless. He didn't do anything for the camp, he didn't have any special skills. He was just… himself. And that wasn't good enough for the apocalypse.

Sometimes John would hear Alex's voice. On _really_ bad days, he would see him. He tried his best to ignore it. He knew it wasn't real. He knew that it was just a figment of his imagination. Alex was dead, and he just had to accept that. A tiny bitter voice in his head said that no, Alex wasn't dead, he was still alive in a way. John couldn't bring himself to kill Alex before he buried him far away from the camp. He let him turn. It was incredibly selfish of him, seeing as Alex said that the last thing he had ever wanted was to be allowed to turn. But the thought that Alex was still alive in a way comforted him.

 _You're fucked up, you know that?_ He scowled at the thought as he reluctantly pulled himself up from the sleeping bag. If he didn't leave his tent today, he was sure to get another lecture and he wasn't in the mood for that. He ran his fingers halfheartedly through his hair and decided to forego brushing it. Instead he simply redid the ponytail. He couldn't be bothered to do much more. He stretched, feeling some joints pop as he held his arms above his head. His gaze fell on an old T-shirt in the corner, and his heart broke all over again.

" _My father will kill us if he finds out about this." John looked down at their intertwined hands anxiously and frowned. They shouldn't be doing this. Why had he agreed for them to have their first date at his house? There was a huge possibility that they'd get caught and then he'd have to move again and he would get the beating of a lifetime for "painting a smear all over the family legacy" and he'd probably get sent to one of those conversion camps-_

" _Jackie, chill. It's alright. We can go somewhere else if you'd like?" How could Alex have such an easygoing grin on his face? Did he not understand how dangerous this was? They could get in serious trouble for this. John should have known better than to do this. He chewed his lip in thought. This was their first actual date, and he was already ruining it. He shook his head._

" _It's fine, 'Lex. I just-"_

" _Do you want to go upstairs for some privacy? I mean, nobody's here but maybe it would make you feel better." John nodded wordlessly, a flush spreading across his face as Alex grabbed his hand and led him upstairs. They ended up in the attic. Sure, it was dusty and drafty, and smelled terribly of mold since it hadn't been cleaned out (or even used) in years. But the draftiness gave the boys an excuse to huddle together for warmth._

 _John closed his eyes in content, his head resting on the shorter boy's chest. Nimble fingers toyed with his hair, occasionally brushing against his scalp. The steady rise and fall of his boyfriend's chest was a comfort. The fabric of the shirt was soft against his cheek. He was almost asleep when Alex spoke again._

" _We're like Romeo and Juliet. Forbidden love and all that shit."_

" _How poetic," John snorted, shifting slightly so that he was nearly in Alex's lap. "...Is this alright with you? Sneaking around like this? Are you… happy?"_

" _Jack. Look at me." He lifted his head and found himself staring into pools of molten chocolate. Alex's mouth turned up in a smirk as he kissed John's cheek. "I wouldn't do all of this for you if I didn't love you. I don't care if nobody can know that we're dating. I only care if we're together. As long as we're together, nothing can go wrong."_

John let out a bitter laugh and left the tent before any other memories came back to him. They had been together when the dead came back to life and started eating people. They had been together on that fatal supply run. It felt like everything went wrong when they were together. He knew he should get rid of Alex's things (it would honestly make it easier for him to move on), but he felt like doing so would dishonoring his memory. He didn't want to forget him just yet. There were eyes on him as he walked through the camp, looking for his friends. He knew that he looked like a mess. He knew that everyone probably hated him for being a waste of space, but he could deal with that later.

He found Hercules and Lafayette in the medical tent, counting supplies. A pang of guilt went through his chest when he realized that they'd had to waste precious supplies on his stupid self-inflicted cuts. He looked at the supplies. They were running low again. They would have to go on another supply run soon. He cleared his throat and chuckled slightly when they jumped and turned around.

"You're out of bed," Hercules noted, a tiny smile gracing his face. John nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious underneath his gaze. His hair was a tangled mess of knots, his skin was most likely the palest it's ever been, and he didn't need a mirror to know that he had shadows underneath his eyes. He chewed on his lip anxiously, stopping when he felt how chapped it was. He didn't want to make it bleed.

"How are you feeling?" Lafayette asked, worry coating his tone. He opened his mouth to say more, but clamped it shut, thinking better of it. Instead he chose to walk over to John and pat him on the shoulder.

"I… It's hard," John admitted, deciding that it was best to tell the truth. These were his friends. They wouldn't judge him. His shoulders started shaking with dry sobs. The past few months had been tearless. He had refused to cry. Crying meant that it was true, Alex was really gone, and he didn't know how to accept that. He had been through every emotion on the spectrum except the one that everyone expected out of him. Sorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy Wednesday, lovelies! I don't know how everyone else's year is going so far, but my right eye is like, kind of messed up. Blinking hurts. I don't think my eyebags are helping much, either. And I don't know what's wrong, but if this is just an eyelash that somehow got wedged in the corner of my eye, I'll be very upset. Hopefully everyone else is having a better time than I am. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter! Stuff will get interesting soon! (Also if anyone caught my Next to Normal references, you're beautiful and I love you) ~Shaymie**

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 _It's just a supply run. In and out of the city. Simple. You've done dozens of them before._ John's hands trembled as he loaded his gun with ammo. He repeated the words to himself as he got himself ready. He didn't want to do this, but Washington gave him no choice. His mind was flooded with memories of what had happened on the last supply run. He couldn't help but remind himself of how useless he was. What if he let someone else get killed? Maybe if he was lucky enough, he'd be the one to die instead-

No, he couldn't let himself think like that. He'd told Hercules and Lafayette that he was going to try to keep living. For their sakes. He didn't give a shit about what happened to him. But he gave a shit about his friends. For some reason, they _liked_ him. They liked him enough to want to keep him alive. They liked him enough to worry about him when he had spent months moping in his tent, barely eating or drinking. And he realized, a bit belatedly, that he wasn't the only one who had suffered from Alex's death. Everyone in the camp had been hurting. But like usual,

he had only been thinking of himself.

He was selfish. He had always been selfish. And he would never stop _being_ selfish. It was selfish of him to spend all his time locked away in his tent when everyone else was out there, fighting for their lives. It was selfish for him to cut himself when he _knew_ that out of all the supplies for them to get, medical supplies were the most precious. It had been selfish for him to start dating Alex, knowing full well that they'd never get to go out on actual dates, always having to sneak around in secret.

" _It was selfish of you to let me turn."_ John growled almost animalistically as he heard Alex's voice. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He wasn't real. He wasn't real. Alexander Hamilton was _dead_ , and he would just have to learn to accept that. He repeated the words to himself in a desperate attempt to drive off the voice. He didn't need this now. He had to focus. They were leaving for the city soon. He couldn't waste his time talking to a voice in his head.

" _If you won't grieve me, I won't let you leave me behind."_ John felt himself go pale when Alex materialized in front of him, looking just as he did before he buried him. He could feel his heart beating out of its chest. This wasn't real, it… it wasn't. But it was all he had. Memories and this hallucination were all he had left. He knew that it would be insane of him to encourage this imaginary Alex, but in a way, it was comforting.

God, he still looked perfect… Even with the scars and stitches, he looked amazing. John felt himself falling in love all over again. For a moment, it was just the two of them in their own perfect bubble. Everything else just faded away. He let himself be led away by the imaginary Alex. He let himself forget that this was just an illusion, that it would end eventually. He just let himself be… happy. Screw everyone else in the camp. He could feel his body glow warm with happiness as they went deeper into the woods.

"Alex, do you hate me?" John asked once they settled underneath an old apple tree. He blushed as he tossed an apple in the air. This was just like their college days, when they would sneak out of their dorm in the middle of the night for a few moments away from Hercules and Lafayette. "I shouldn't have done what I did. You… You _told_ me what you wanted and I went against your wishes. I-"

"John, what are you doing out here?" John scowled as Hercules and Lafayette emerged from the trees. Think of the devils and they shall appear. To his dismay, the apparition of Alex disappeared with a sad smile and a wave. He sighed as he pulled himself up from the ground. Back to reality, he supposed. He stared back at Hercules with a blank expression.

"I just wanted some air, Herc. Is that too much to ask? It's bad enough that you guys are taking away my choice in whether I have to go to the city with you. Are you going to take my _privacy_ away, too?" He hadn't meant for the words to come out so harshly. He could tell that Lafayette was hurt by the way he flinched. But Hercules wasn't deterred. His face hardened as he grabbed John's forearm with a bit too much force and started pulling him back towards the camp.

"We're doing what it takes to keep you _alive_ , John. And if that means leaving you with a chaperone because you can't go two seconds without pulling some _shit_ like this, then so be it. After that stunt you pulled the other day-which by the way, is _part_ of the reason we even need to go out for supplies in the first place-do you really think we're going to trust you by yourself? We get it, you miss Alex. Everyone misses him. But hurting yourself and going off alone in the woods isn't going to change anything. It won't bring him back. Do you think he would want you to suffer like this?"

John bit back a snarky response as he was (quite literally) dragged back to camp. He wanted to tell Hercules to mind his own damn business even though he knew he was just trying to help. But he knew that wouldn't help anything, so he kept his mouth shut and fumed in silence. He could tell that Lafayette was already uncomfortable with the situation. He didn't want to add any more fuel to the fire. He would just have to… deal with it. His mouth turned down in a frown.

"John, if… If you aren't ready, we can ask George to-"

"I'm fine, Laf," John interrupted, his eyes staring straight ahead, where he could see the camp growing closer. He flinched as Hercules finally released his arm, shoving him forward. He put his hands into his pockets and sighed as he slouched. "Let's get this over with."


End file.
